"That is your choice, of course." Bedwyr turned to Modrun. "Do you know how they meet?"
"I don't know where exactly, but I do know that they use Medraut's young brother-in-law Gildas to arrange meetings."
"Gildas?" Cador asked. The boy he had known was so sure of his own moral superiority, it was impossible to imagine him being messenger for an adulterous affair.
"I doubt if the youth knows what he is party to," Modrun explained. "But he is always happy to visit Medraut, and they seem to be taking advantage of that. I am not sure of the details, but after I learned of their involvement from Ginevra's thoughts, I began to watch them more closely."
"Only from Ginevra?" Bedwyr asked.
"Medraut's thoughts are closed to me."
"Yseult said the same thing," Cador murmured.
"It is a trick that can be learned," Modrun said at Bedwyr's curious look. "Cador can also shield his thoughts."
Bedwyr gave him a surprised look. "A valuable skill to have."
"Very," Cador agreed. "Especially if you are married to a woman with the power of knowing."
Cador found himself wondering if Arthur would even care that Ginevra was having an affair with his nephew. The Dux Bellorum had never shown signs of feeling anything more than mild affection for his wife — and often much less. Certainly Arthur was no Marcus Cunomorus; nonetheless, on some level he could understand Ginevra's search for love outside of marriage.
He rose. "Thank you for treating my bruises."
"Remember, if the pain in your chest increases or becomes sharper, come and see me."
"I will."
He took his leave of Modrun and Bedwyr and made his way to the rooms he had taken in Caer Leon. The knowledge of Ginevra's affair filled him with dread, and he did not want to be here to witness what would come of it. Perhaps he could seek out Cai and ask him — what? For advice with the horses? When it came down to it, perhaps that was not such a bad idea. If Cai were in Lindinis rather than his own remote family seat, he could quickly be called to Caer Leon if the situation changed and he was needed. He would suggest it, see what his brother-in-law had to say.
But first Cador would write a letter to his wife.
* * * *
Cador to Yseult, greetings.
I found myself watching a boat coming up the River Usk today, hoping it would bring news from you, but unfortunately there was nothing. The bits of news we do get out of Eriu are alarming. I hope you are safe.
I am still in Caer Leon, as I told you in my last letter, and may be for some time, as I am filling the position of Master of Horse until Arthur finds a replacement for Cai. I could wish for better news to share with you, but there is none. At least Kustennin and I are well.
Despite the way in which we parted, I want you to know that I miss you more than I can express on these sheets of folded birch. I hope you receive this, and if you do, please write as soon as you can to at least assure me that you have taken no harm in the wars plaguing Eriu.
I hope you will be able to return home soon. I promise to be a better husband when you do.
Your loving and repentant husband, Cador
* * * *
Medraut gave Ginevra a lingering kiss and pulled a cape of blue lambswool so dark it was almost black over his shoulders. The royal purple was denied to him, but this shade of blue was nearly as rare. If things turned out as he planned, he would see to it that it became a more royal color than purple.
"It always hurts so when you leave," Ginevra said. "I feel as if my heart is breaking every time."
He kissed her again, cupping her beautiful face in his hands. Her words were gratifying, a salve to his wounded soul, even if they were overly dramatic. "We must hope that someday we will be together for good, but now we must be content with these stolen moments. Or do you think Arthur would be willing to let you go?"
She shook her head miserably, unshed tears adding an extra sheen to her blue eyes, even in the dim light of the abandoned farmhouse. She truly was one of the most beautiful women in Britain, and since they had begun their affair, he could almost believe that his luck was turning. His uncle was such a fool not to treat her the way she deserved — but that was part of his luck now, in this moment.
One more kiss, and then he would have to leave. "Make sure to wait long enough before returning to Caer Leon, my love."
"When will we be able to meet again?"
"I don't know. But we will see each other soon — at the latest for the Easter procession."
"That is almost worse than not seeing each other at all."
He agreed with her in more ways than she knew. He'd tried to teach her the trick of shielding her thoughts, but she was not very good at it. The authenticity of her feelings was one of her charms, but he was afraid Modrun or another with the power of knowing would learn of their affair sooner or later, if they hadn't already.
At least he was fairly confident that Modrun would not be able to blacken his name with his uncle. Medraut had saved not only Arthur, but also his wife, and slowly the Dux Bellorum was entrusting him with more and more important duties. Perhaps Arthur would begin grooming him as heir yet, and then there would be no need to follow up with his backup plans involving the Queen of Cerniw.
If only his uncle had given him more opportunities for advancement earlier, then Medraut would not have had to go behind his back like this. But every time he saw Ginevra naked and knew she was his, he could not regret how things had played out.
"Goodbye, Ginevra," he said, kissing her forehead. "Be patient for me."
"I will. I have to be."
Medraut's two most trusted fighting men were hidden in a nearby copse of pine trees along with Ginevra's woman and her guards. As he walked to the copse, he thought he saw movement in the underbrush to his left, farthest away from the road. He slowed his pace and surreptitiously gazed in that direction, but he saw nothing suspicious. Then a robin flew up from the bushes, and he heaved a sigh of relief. Ginevra was part of his long-term plan, and he was confident in having secured the affections of the Queen, but he was not yet ready for open conflict with Arthur. There was still much to be arranged before that day came.
He slipped into the grove where the others waited, and took the hand of Ginevra's woman, kissing it gallantly. "You will see to it that your mistress arrives safe in Caer Leon, I know."
A hint of a blush stained her cheeks. "I will do my best, Lord."
"Thank you." He turned to his men. "Come, we ride."
The farmhouse was only about two miles from Caer Leon. It was a bit farther to the church and monastery school, where Gildas was now learning with Illtud. Long ago, Medraut had used the same run-down house for trysts with Nimue, before she had gone from seducing Myrddin because he'd asked it of her to declaring her preference for the magician — for an old man, wrinkles lining his face and his hair whiter than snow. He knew she must be lying; she had probably learned that Myrddin was easier to manipulate and promised herself more from him. While he could understand, her rejection still hurt. Medraut had been more in love with Nimue than any woman he'd ever known.
But now he could call the most beautiful woman in Britain his own. What did some minor king's daughter matter?
The farmhouse was still as perfect for a tryst now as it was then. Off a riding path rarely frequented, it was uninteresting to outlaws, since not enough travelers passed by. For his affair with Ginevra, it had the added advantage that he could use an unknowing Gildas as a messenger; if either of them sent a message by way of Medraut's young brother-in-law, it meant he or she had time and opportunity to go to the farmhouse. If Gildas was sent back, the other could not make it. Of course, Gildas was in Illtud's school more often than in Caer Leon, but Medraut had cultivated his friendship, and the youth visited regularly. He and Ginevra had used other messengers too, of course, but — being ignorant — Cwylli's brother was safest.
As their mounts neared Caer Leon, Medraut couldn't help congratulating himself again on how well his plans were
coming to fruition. While Cwylli's death had been no more than accident, it had taught him how liberating a convenient death could be. It had been easy enough killing Arthur's arrogant son Loholt, and even easier framing the conceited Cai for the crime. All had worked out exactly as he planned: two birds with one stone — the heir of the Dux Bellorum was out of the way, and so was Ginevra's former lover. Well, not precisely as planned, he had to admit; he would have preferred it if Cai had been tried and executed, or perhaps even murdered at Arthur's own hand. Medraut had underestimated the trust Arthur had in his former Master of Horse.
But at least with Cai banished, Medraut had been able to complete his seduction of the Queen — the only legitimate claim Arthur had to kingship.
And now she was his.
Medraut was smiling as he and his men rode through the western gate of Caer Leon — but, unfortunately, the first thing he saw was Cador of Dumnonia, his stepson Kustennin, and two stable hands as they guided half-a-dozen horses through the streets towards the stables. Cador was now Arthur's Master of Horse, one of the most powerful positions in the land. And Kustennin — Medraut drew in a deep breath — since Loholt's death, Kustennin was obviously being groomed to take a major leadership role in Arthur's forces. It was Kustennin who had been sent out last fall to arbitrate between the regional kings Brychan and Gundleus, bitter enemies since Gundleus had married Brychan's daughter Gladys without her father's permission.
Kustennin was unusually inexperienced to be assigned leadership of such an expedition. Medraut had only had the honor twice, and he was a decade older. It should have been him.
It was only one more sign that it was time and more that Medraut took his fate into his own hands.
* * * *
For years, the Easter festival in Caer Leon had been one of the largest in the land, visited by all the nearby kings, major and minor, even when they were far from friendly, such as Gundleus and Brychan. Medraut watched as Gladys publicly stroked her husband's upper arm, pointing out a colorful demon in the procession, meant to symbolize temptation. By the looks of it, she seemed happy enough as wives went. Medraut suspected Brychan's continued antagonism towards his daughter's husband had more to do with feeling cheated at not receiving enough in bride gifts — and that he was the kind who never forgave a slight.
Medraut smiled to himself. He had no problem with such petty enmities; in fact, they might well further his long term plans. He glanced from Owain to Cadwallon and back, neighboring kings who no longer spoke to each other. Medraut liked to think that was in part his own doing. Chieftains inclined to war with each other would be less inclined to support Arthur in a concerted military effort, which would make it easier for Medraut to carve out his own kingdom when the opportunity arose.
Following the demon in the Easter procession came the novices offering eggs and unleavened bread to those standing on the sidelines. Medraut spotted Gildas, who was handing out pieces of bread with a happy smile on his face. The youth seemed quite content at Illtud's school.
But as he watched, the smile disappeared from Gildas's face. Medraut looked to see what had taken away the boy's enjoyment of the festivities: Modrun. Probably because she openly and unrepentantly followed the Old Ways, one of the few still left in Caer Leon. Then Medraut noticed that Modrun's attention was fixed on a particular point in the crowd.
Ginevra. And she was staring straight at Medraut.
Their eyes met, and he quickly glanced back toward the Easter procession. He wished there were some way he could make her stop; Ginevra had been gazing at him with her heart in her eyes. Even without her power of knowing, Modrun would surely see what was between him and Arthur's wife.
He could only hope that Modrun was the only one who had noticed. Or if she was not, that Arthur continued to trust him — and continued to be as blind in personal matters as he had always been.
Chapter 23
Briar and fennel and chincapin,
And rue and ragweed everywhere;
The field seemed sick as a soul with sin,
Or dead as of an old despair,
Born of an ancient care.
The cricket's cry and the locust's whirr,
And the note of a bird's distress,
With the rasping sound of the grasshopper,
Clung to the loneliness
Liked burrs to a trailing dress.
Madison Cawein, "Waste Land"
Cador was glad the Easter celebration was over. The festivities in Caer Leon were very different from those Yseult practiced in Lansyen — but the fact was, the last time he had seen her it was also Easter, a year ago.
And still he'd heard nothing. Not for the first time, he wondered if he would ever see her again.
When Cador neared the stables behind the principia, Arthur was already there, pacing impatiently. Cador did not think he was particularly late, but Arthur was not one who liked to wait on others.
The Dux Bellorum stopped and faced him. "What is it you wanted to show me?"
"A stallion I bought last year at the horse fair in Durnovaria." Cador held up a hand, stalling Arthur's protests. "Yes, I know you prefer mares, but just take a look at him. You may still decide you do not want him as a war horse, but I swear by everything I hold dear that you will at least consider it."
Arthur folded his arms in front of his chest and nodded shortly, a faint smile tilting up one side of his mouth. "Is that a bet, cousin?"
"If you want it to be."
"Come, let us see this gem of an animal. A gem of your choosing if you are right."
Cador chuckled, squinting into the bright spring sun. The day had turned out perfect to show off the black — his stunning coat would show to advantage in this light. He gestured to the stablehand standing ready. "Bring the stallion, please."
The black trotted into the yard like a king, snorting and throwing back his head so that his mane rippled in cascades of shimmering darkness. Cador heard Arthur draw in a quick breath and he smiled; for a change, it turned out to be a blessing that horses were as vain as their masters, if not more so. The stablehand winked, and Cador smiled back.
"Where have you been hiding him?" Arthur breathed.
Cador laughed. "Hardly hiding. He has been servicing the mares in Lindinis. I wanted to have as many offspring by him as possible."
"What do you call him?"
"Hengroen."
"You were right, he's magnificent."
The stallion's coat glimmered blue-black in the sun, but more important for his use as a potential war horse were the intelligence in his eyes, the nicely turned-over neck, high withers, sloping shoulders, and good depth in the back that promised speed and endurance.
"Are you interested?" Cador asked.
"Yes. I'll take him. Whatever price you ask and a gem of your choosing." Just like that.
"There's one other thing," Cador began.
Arthur smiled. "I thought there would be. No one gives up a horse like that without ulterior motives."
Cador chuckled. "Yes, well, I hope with a new mount for you, as well as the other additions to your stable that I've made, that my job here is done for a time. I would like to leave Caer Leon for a month or two to take care of other business."
"You are free to leave any time."
"I know that, but I think you also know that my sense of loyalty to you would prevent me from doing so as long as you need me."
Arthur clapped him on the back. "I appreciate it, more than ever in these times when loyalty seems to be harder and harder to come by."
Cador nodded. "I know he's young yet, but Kustennin could take over from me while I'm gone. He spent much of his youth in the stables of Lindinis, and he knows horses."
Arthur shrugged. "The Frankish king Chlodovech was only twenty when he defeated the Romans at Suessionum. And Alexander the Great no older when he began to take over the known world, if the history taught us is to be believed. Kustennin should have no problem taking charge of the horses."
"T
rue."
Arthur must have heard a father's skepticism in his voice. "He is a man grown, Cador, and he learns quickly. He will make a fine Master of Horse while you are away."
* * * *
Less than half a days' ride on the road north, Bedwyr and two of his men caught up with Cador's party.
"Bedwyr! What are you doing here?"
"Modrun told me of your plans and I decided to come along."
Cador almost protested that he had not informed Modrun of his plans — until he realized that he had not been masking his thoughts. Of course Modrun knew what he intended to do.
Bedwyr drew up next to him. "I can help you when we reach Caer Gai, you know."
Cador nodded. "Yes, but with you and Cai and Myrddin all absent, who is to keep Arthur from being influenced too much by the wrong people?"
"Modrun is still there. And many other loyal warriors — such as Kustennin."
Cador wasn't convinced. Nonetheless, he was glad of Bedwyr's company on the journey to the fortress on the border between Venedotia and Powys.
Cai's seat was a former Roman garrison, refortified by his grandfather Gaius in the times of trouble after the Roman army had withdrawn from Britain. When they rode through the gates, Cador was surprised at how run-down the place appeared. On the other hand, Cai spent too much time in service with Arthur to really be able to run his own small holding.
At first, Cai proved extremely stubborn at their attempts to persuade him to travel south.
"If you were in Lindinis, Celemon could visit you more often — and Bedwyr might even be able to convince Arthur to meet with you there," Cador argued. "He needs you, Cai."
Cai lounged in a high-backed chair, his arms crossed in front of his chest, his expression stony. "Did he say so?"
"No, but —"
"Then he obviously does not need me."
Bedwyr slapped the flat of his hands down on the table and leaned forward. "Cador is right and you know it. The three of us belong together, we're a team. We've fought together since we reached the age of choice. Even our marriages always came second to our friendship."
Shadow of Stone (The Pendragon Chronicles) Page 37
